


It's all a joke

by Boxi



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:03:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boxi/pseuds/Boxi
Summary: Non-cannon dark fluff set in the telltale universe.Bruce/batman x John Doe/Joker
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	It's all a joke

Bruce's POV

  
Why did he keep letting him come along to these things. Bruce looked over at the grinning man, walking over to him in tattered blood stained clothing against the back drop of the warehouse they’d just blown a hole in the roof of. He turned to face John and noticed uncomfortably how parts of his shirt stuck to his stomach where the larger red patches were. He looked down at his own hands and forearms, covered in thick black plating. Most nights he’d remove his Kevlar suit and grimace at the bruising he’d sustain through the armor but here was John, with that manic smile he’d started to develop, standing infront of him, littered with bruises and cuts.

He lifted his left hand to brush away a torn section of his shirt focusing on a crudely stitched, long wound over John’s hip. It still looked raw, with an uncomfortable pink lining where the two sections of skin were trying to fuse and a deep blue spreading out around this. It was a beautiful colour, he absently wondered if it was infected, if it would be hot to the touch. Not that he’d be able to feel anything through all of this damn armor.

He clicked back a panel at the side of his finger that caused all the Kevlar plating below his elbows to retract to their main plates. He was faintly aware of talking in the background, John was asking him something, his tone unsure. Bruce went back to the wound over Johns hip, he traced his thumb around the raised, warm skin. He used his other hand to move the ragged, sticky remains of the shirt and further inspected the mans abdomen. He was so pale, the patches of red, purple and blue only further highlighting how white his skin was. Had he always been this pale? Back when he went out to work during daylight hours rather than following Bruce around at night, back before his life turned upside down.

Rough, uncovered hands explored the expanse of flesh before him, following the rise and fall of welts and scars, circling open wounds and bruises. What the hell had he been doing letting him accumulate all of these. His hands had stalled on bony white hips. Such a wiry build on a narrow frame, he thought. Why did he keep letting him come along to these things, knowing he didn’t have the same training, the same armor. He looked up at John’s face. The smile had gone and had been replaced with a look he couldn’t quite figure out, calm, pathetic. It made him seethe. He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Go home, I’ll finish this on my own.” Bruce’s trademark low growl punctuated his words.

“Ah, wait. I’ll come with you. Two heads are always better than one!” John pipped up in his normal chirpy tone.

The dark knight turned back, his right arm grasping at Johns neck and extending until the tall mans toes barely touched the floor. Both of John’s hands went up to the black gauntlet that was choking him, scrambling for purchase. Bruce watched as that hauntingly peaceful look morphed into terror within milliseconds and felt himself relax in this more familiar situation. He lowered his arm until the tall mans feet were firmly planted to the ground and drew Johns face in close to his.

“You will not follow me. You will use my car and go home.” Every word dripped with unspoken threat and he reveled in the feeling of being able to control the man he held by the neck. John squawked in affirmation and Bruce loosened his grip then dropped his hand to his side. His hands itched to go back, to grab and grasp more of that lean figure infront of him, to make him writhe in discomfort and push the limits of that trust that was so apparent.

Trust….

He turned on his heel again and stomped to the Batmobile. He closed the door behind John and set the car to ‘delivery of important cargo’. Bruce smirked. John could fiddle with the wheel all he wanted in there. The car wouldn’t stop until it got him to his front door. Batman sprinted away from the building and disappeared into the night.

It wasn’t hard to catch up with militia. Well not when they flee in an unusual looking armored car in a city with one of the highest levels of CCTV. That and when they’re being chased by someone with an unreasonable amount of technology and police resources at his disposal. What had been hard that night was taking them down after being hit by a sticky grenade on the chest. Kevlar was amazing but it couldn’t absorb the force of everything. When the ringing in his ears stopped and his leg buckled under it’s first step he wondered if this was how John felt after his 11th and 12th rib had fractured a few months back. He’d vomited that day but insisted he could keep going.

It was weird how recently all thoughts led back to that guy.

It was even more weird that he gave into the curiosity that led him to stand where he was right now. Infront of his car, looking up at John’s flat. It didn’t take him long to find himself inside the small flat. He glanced at the peeling paint, the lights were still on the living/dinner area but John was nowhere to be seen. A few of his smaller batgadgets and knives were on the kitchen top alongside basic tools. He opened the fridge, wondering what the man had eaten for the night and found it to have a sparse offering. A few yogurt pots, a shriveled apple, carrots. Irritation welled inside of him as he heard the soft padding of feet making their way towards him. He turned quickly and felt the twinge from the blast earlier. His chest was becoming heavy now that his adrenaline rush from earlier was wearing off. John smiled at him and he felt the weight of the Kevlar become unbearable. He scrambled at the panels on his arms and chest, ripping them off before they’d fully retracted. He clawed at the ones on his shoulders and back unable to reach them in his injured state.

John gently tugged off one the main panels on Bruce’s right shoulder. He turned it over in his hands, glanced at its underside, then dropped it on the floor with the others. Bruce stood still and said nothing as John continued to remove his upper body paneling. Feet planted firmly and arms dancing over his broad frame. His breathing slowed as those lithe arms reached over his shoulders to pull at the main panel between his shoulder blades, drawing their owner closer, their bodies closer. It came off with a light pop and Bruce caught those arms before they could fully be removed from his shoulders. He took one hand from his right shoulder and lifted it to his helmet. They both knew who he was under there but it was so hard to bring the other hand up. He felt a gentle tap as John’s forehead pressed against his cowl. His face came closer as the tips of their noses touched and he could see the dark circles under soft green eyes, feel the warm breath on his cheeks, over his lips.

Bruce wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for or when it transformed into this hazy abandon. He could feel his lips moving against a fuller pair with equal fever. His arms and chest felt like they’d fully enveloped John’s form, with a hand resting on his lower back, pushing him further into a tight grasp. Johns hand remained on his cheek, rubbing over the stubble not covered by his cowl, the other arm wrapped along his shoulders tightly. John was the only anchor he could find in this frenzied haze.

Bam! Bam!

Bruce jumped back from John, and tried to focus his mind to survey the immediate area for threat. An argument between a man and a woman started to come into focus.

“It’s the neighbors.” John explained. “I’ve got thin walls”

Fear tinged Bruce’s periphery. How long had they been arguing for? He looked back at John sandwiched between a small panel of wall between two doors and himself. When had they moved from the kitchen? He looked over at the other side of the small room at his pile of Kevlar. Panic grew, he’d had no control over that situation. He looked at John’s flushed face and recoiled as if he’d been burned. Without a word he picked up his armor paneling and left the flat.

Johns’ POV

John watched Bruce pick up his suit parts and walk out of the door without a word.  
He missed feeling numb, spending time with Bruce always made him feel. Unbelievable highs were always followed by lows when he left, leaving him with the pain from all the other things he’d rather forget. He slid to the floor and winced as his poorly stitched stab wound throbbed. He definitely needed to get some antibiotics tomorrow. John laid on his side and alternated between trying to sleep away the pain and focusing on it to keep the sounds of laughter at bay. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was a quick afternoon write up so you'll have to forgive grammar/spelling.


End file.
